The worn till
Nine coins. One face is yours.
The tarnish hides every emblem. Reach in the way you'd reach into a coat pocket — without ceremony — and turn one over.
Where the nine emblems come from
Long before banknotes, merchants and guilds struck their own tokens — small private coins stamped with a key, a ship, a sheaf of wheat, a hive — part currency, part calling card, part quiet declaration of how the bearer did business. People have always pressed meaning into metal. The nine emblems in this till borrow that old habit: each one is minted with a different way of holding money, and each tends to be flattering and costly in its own particular fashion.
How to choose: don't. The tarnish makes every coin identical, and the till is shuffled fresh each time the drawer slides open — your last visit, your question, and your hopes have no say in what sits where. Let your hand drift across the grid the way it drifts over change in a pocket, and turn over the one it lands on. The emblem you find is a mirror to read, not a fortune to await.